


Up Helly Aa

by cullenlovesmen



Series: Bi!Cullen fics [23]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Don’t copy to another site, M/M, Magical Realism, No Homophobia, No plot just fluff and smut, Pagan Festivals, Secret Relationship, Soul Bond, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Very minor Carver/Merrill in the background, Were-Creatures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cullenlovesmen/pseuds/cullenlovesmen
Summary: According to Sebastian, Cullen belongs to the island now and must participate in its strange customs.He ducks his head to conceal the flood of warmth gushing to his cheeks. It is a nice thought. To belong to a place, to a special someone. To the people who now surround him. It is no hardship to be here, clutching his friend by the arm, challenging the January chill together. And after the festivities are over, Cullen has no doubt he need not beg Sebastian to spend the night in his cottage.Inspired by McLavellan'sThe Woodcutter.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Sebastian Vael
Series: Bi!Cullen fics [23]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1124577
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	Up Helly Aa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [McLavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Woodcutter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18238361) by [McLavellan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/pseuds/McLavellan). 



> I heard it was your birthday, McLavellan, so I put some fic into your fic. I hope you'll like this!

Sebastian swims through the crowd like a fish in water, exchanging words with each masked squad member, mindful of keeping his torch from touching their fellow revellers. They’ve paused before Varric’s pub to await word from the Jarl, and Cullen watches as Sebastian entertains everyone else. Sebastian always claims he’s unpopular in the village, but it’s clearly untrue. Everyone flocks to the man, wanting his opinion on one thing or another – or perhaps just a moment of his time.

Cullen can hardly fault them; had he not woken up with Sebastian’s arms locked around him, he’d be angling for a word, too. 

Cullen struggled to keep up as they moved from one club to another, each of them offering a new entertainment for the Jarl’s squad. They had started from the Kitchen, feasting on carrot soup and smoked ham, the food loading them with the strength they all would need for the long night ahead. From there each slipped on their masks and the party ventured forth to the local school. Cullen’s thighs still ache because of the dance he’d been coerced to join.

The Jarl – whom other than Varric Tethras? – announces the pub doors are open, and the squad follows him inside. Cullen lags behind, not in a hurry to see what challenges await him this time.

The pub’s number turns out to be simple: drink two pints of ale in less than a minute. This he could have done with ease in his younger days, but now the liquid tastes bitter and feels thick in his mouth; it has been a while since he last drank like this.

Sebastian, however, seems to struggle even more than Cullen does: soon his half-finished tankard lays forgotten on the table as he talks with a tall woman wearing a bird mask. It’s clear the priest recognises everyone, masked or not, but then he steals a glance at Cullen from over his shoulder. 

It’s such a new thing, this secret between them, and yet it’s been there ever since Sebastian first set foot in Cullen’s cottage, in one form or another. It’s only a few weeks since they first kissed, and yet Cullen feels the smile hidden under Sebastian’s wolf mask, like a mental connection.

It’s been there ever since they first mated. It’s not quite telepathy, but it’s more than a hunch. Cullen doesn’t pretend to understand the mechanics of it, but it’s more than the tether tying two lovers together. A gentle vibration tinkles inside his head as Sebastian laughs; it’s a delicate sensation, easily missed, but Cullen is tuned in on him. There’s a teasing note to it, and he doesn’t hesitate to respond in kind.

Ah, but there was a task to fulfill! Cullen goes back to his pint, but the Jarl yells out a warning for five seconds remaining before he’s even downed his first. Sebastian’s still sits forgotten on the table as he cheers on the tall woman, letting out a gleeful yell as the masked lady gulps the last of her beer. At least someone is taking it seriously, instead of pining over a lover. 

No, that’s not right. Not pining – admiring. And not just a lover.

Sebastian risks linking their arms as they exit the pub, pulling Cullen close to whisper: “I miss you.” 

It’s silly, Cullen knows, and yet he returns the sentiment by pulling Sebastian closer to him, barely restraining himself. Nobody knows of them yet. It’s not fear that keeps them from revealing this secret; none would object to them, except perhaps for Rylen. No, what’s between them is so new and unpracticed; so raw and intricate. It’s neither courtship or an affair; it’s more than that, and it’s worth nursing and protecting. 

It’s… it’s too intimate. It’s only for them. 

And yet the pretense of platonic warmth feels wrong somehow. 

Ah, but in time they’ll let the secret out. As soon as this mad passion settles to a comfortable simmer, they may hold hands in town and be satisfied with just that. Right now, though, every point of contact between them threatens to drive them into distraction. 

As if reading Cullen’s thoughts, Sebastian untangles their arms and picks up their torches from Merrill, who’s beaming with excitement, fire light dancing on her unmasked face. “Is it time for the ship yet?” 

“Yes, we’re heading out for the harbour as soon as the squad is gathered.” 

Cullen watches as Sebastian rests a hand on Merrill’s shoulder, in a perfectly casual gesture of friendship, and yet something ugly tries rearing its head inside him. He forces it down - perhaps Sebastian didn’t feel it - but the man removes his hand and puts it behind his back where Cullen can see it. Another gesture, but this time for him, the way Sebastian’s fingers point towards him as if reaching.

It’s strange, come to think of it, the way they read each other now. The night they joined rewrote the Rosetta stone in both of their minds, and now everything is easy. Cullen had never known a connection like this, and Sebastian, if barely-audible whispers brushed against Cullen’s skin were to be believed, was as shaken as he was. It was a lot to get used to. Another reason why they should keep it quiet for now.

If only that was easy, too.

Sebastian invites Merrill to walk with them, and the three of them link their arms, Merrill settling between them. Their torches illuminate the wet cobblestones as the squad starts a merry path through the town and into the docks. Sebastian and Merrill speculate on the origins of this festival; Merrill insisting it’s a pagan tradition, Sebastian assuring her it’s something much newer. Cullen smiles at their laughter-peppered exchange, but makes no comment. The night is chilly, and blessedly still. Candles flicker in the windows of residences: reminders of the Christmas past, to be collected away come morning. The festival - whatever its origin - ends Yuletide on the island, and Sebastian had insisted they take part.

According to Sebastian, Cullen belongs to the island now and must participate in its strange customs. 

He ducks his head to conceal the flood of warmth gushing to his cheeks. It is a nice thought. To belong to a place, to a special someone. To the people who now surround him. It is no hardship to be here, clutching his friend by the arm, challenging the January chill together. And after the festivities are over, Cullen has no doubt he need not beg Sebastian to spend the night in his cottage.

Merrill giggles, and that ends the conversation. Cullen is unsure which of them ended up with the upper hand, but knows it matters to neither. A comfortable silence descends upon the three of them as they march past shops and residences, the school and the miniscule fire department. Bare trees framing the street look as though they’re curling in on themselves, fending off the cold.

The monotony of the squad’s footsteps falls to the background as the Jarl breaks into a song. Sebastian, Merrill, and the others are quick to join in, but Cullen doesn’t know the words. Sebastian’s full, velvety baritone mixes with Merrill’s steady alto, and the song pierces the darkness. Cullen takes a mental note: next year he will know it by heart.

Perhaps Sebastian is right. Perhaps he does belong here.

There is no doubt he belongs to Sebastian, and the thought is enough to cause another surge of warmth within him, the brunt of it rising to his cheeks, and this time there’s no doubt Sebastian feels it, too, for his voice wavers the slightest bit. The song is followed by another, and the melody carries until they arrive at the docks. They cut through groups of spectators awaiting them, spilling to the docks. 

There is a large, wooden galley docked at the end of a long pier, and they gather near it. It’s a replica of a Viking ship, carefully crafted over the past year or so – Cullen recalls Carver talking about the process during pub nights – but it’s empty inside, and so it will remain. A waste, really. The Jarl takes position before his squad and bellows out a speech, theatrical and heated, not all of it in English. The squad seems to understand; cries and confirmations erupt from the masked revellers. 

Merrill shivers, and Cullen hurries to drape an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the slow breeze drifting from the sea. His fingertips find Sebastian’s arm, and, despite his better judgement, he plays with the fabric of the man’s coat. It’s something. It doesn’t sate the urge to push close and connect them, but it’s something. A pulse of need travels through the nether into his mind; Sebastian isn’t faring any better.

This is the last stop of their parade. The torches are running out of fuel, some of them flickering dangerously between life and the void, and the Jarl hurries on with his speech. A moment later the Jarl lets out a war cry, and, one by one, the revellers throw their torches to the deck of the ship. Sebastian hands his torch for Merrill to throw, and she lets out a fierce yell, catapulting the item onto the deck with unexpected force. Cullen follows Sebastian’s cue and hands his torch to Merrill as well, earning a pleased smile before she disposes of it with the same fervour.

It’s Cullen who dissolves into laughter first, despite his attempts to conceal it. Merrill is really quite something! She giggles as she nestles back under Cullen’s arm, and Sebastian laughs, too. They watch the fire catching on the galleon’s structure; licking it slowly at first, but then it flares into life at once, tall flames reaching skyward all over the deck. 

There’s something primal in watching the fire dance before them; something alluring in the warmth it emits. The laughter dies down, and the silence that follows is almost reverent. Even the squad is silent, observing the flames from beneath their masks, but the moment is broken when the Jarl gives the galleon a symbolic kick – and everyone erupts in a cheer. A motor comes to life on cue, and the burning ship is towed toward the sea.

Murmurs replace the cries as the revellers unmask and turn to one another. The performance is over. Familiar faces smile and laugh; Carver grins at Isabela, Aveline chats with her husband. Somewhere among the spectators Rylen, Hilda, and Granny probably await for Cullen, but all he can think of is stealing off into the night with Sebastian. 

The long hours of the night with his love at an arm’s length have been trying.

Cullen, Merrill, and Sebastian withdraw from the pier and pull apart from the crowd, settling near a crackling bonfire. Cullen pulls his lion mask up, enjoying the heat hitting his face, and Merrill extricates from him to warm her hands by the flames.

“That was some impressive throwing there, Merrill,” Sebastian beams, pushing his mask to the top of his head, “Have you been practicing?” 

Cullen tears his eyes away from the face he’s longed to see all night – oh, but how good Sebastian looks, orange beams dancing on his skin – and focuses on Merrill instead. The woman smiles serenely, her gaze flicking between the two of them. Oh… oh no.

“I’m so happy for the two of you,” she says, all feigned innocence.

A flash of panic runs through Cullen’s body – but his feelings go unanswered through the connection tying him to Sebastian. Instead, Sebastian smiles at Merrill, but not before casting Cullen a soothing glance. “Thank you, Merrill. I trust you won’t tell the others before Cullen and I are ready?”

“Oh!” She covers her mouth, green eyes twinkling. “I would never!”

Cullen and Sebastian heave out a breath of relief simultaneously, and the conversation moves onto Merrill and her recent projects. It turns out she’s procured an old family heirloom – a mirror – said to possess magical properties, and she’s working on restoring it with the eldest Hawke sibling. 

“Speaking of the Hawkes,” Sebastian casts a sly smirk at her, “how are things with Carver?”

Cullen quirks a brow - this is not something he’s heard of before – and glances over at where Carver and Isabela stand. Carver’s eyes linger on their group until he sees Cullen looking, and the man turns away all too quickly. 

Merrill looks visibly confused, pulling her fluffy coat closer to her body, “I don’t know what you mean, Sebastian.” 

Sebastian chuckles in response, “I’m sure you will figure it out soon enough.”

And surely enough, once the galleon is but a glowing spot on the horizon, and the spectators and squad members alike are taking their leaves, Carver approaches the three of them and asks if he may walk Merrill home. As the backs of the duo disappear into the darkness, Sebastian turns inquisitive eyes to Cullen, a smirk playing on his lips. Finally. 

The road back to the village is wet and full of potholes, but Cullen barely pays attention as they walk side by side, hands tucked deep into their pockets to keep from touching. Sebastian explains the origins of the festival, how long ago, in the age of the old Queen, island officials wanted to find ways to stop the young men from drinking away the Yuletide. Burning barrels were kicked through villages at first, but such a practice turned out too dangerous – especially since revellers were often drunk out of their minds. So much for the event holding its purpose, but the custom remained. Only with torches later on.

“The Jarl represents a clan leader,” Sebastian says, his breath misting in the air, “a victorious battle chieftain that drives away Viking invaders with his clever strategies. He is always chosen from the event committee, and has to have been a long-time member. Varric’s hands are always in planning the procession, so it is only fair that this year he was chosen as the Jarl. Some villages do not allow women in their squads, but Marian Hawke’s persistent work had ensured them a place some five years past.”

They walk past the village, past the houses where candles had burned mere moments ago, and all is dark but the essence of Cullen’s soul. He could listen to Sebastian talk for hours; the softness of his voice, that remarkable brogue. It fills him up and yet he drinks more in, greedy for everything he’s given. The sky is cloudy, the moon’s silhouette peeking between the edges on occasion, and a raindrop falls to his nose as they pass the city hall. 

It doesn’t matter. The cottage lay not far from here, and once they’re there, he’ll get the hearth going and burrow into the sofa with Sebastian and some blankets. 

He realises his distraction as a hand finds his, clasping it in a warm grip. The town is behind them, its cobblestone turned to smooth sand, and they walk through the forest path in comfortable silence. If only forever could be like this: the shadows of giant trees enveloping them, the sound of Sebastian’s breath next to him, a hand anchoring him to the here and now. 

They wipe their feet before entering the cottage, the hanging seashells tinkling in the wind. The smile on his face no longer hurts his cheeks; he’s used to it by now. Sebastian kneels to pile wood into the hearth as Cullen gets the teapot going, and he could cry at the ease with which they slot together. 

“You can not imagine how badly I wanted to touch you all evening,” Sebastian murmurs into his skin once they’re finally settled underneath the aged quilts. “I thought I might go mad.”

Cullen sighs, nuzzling into his love’s neck, stealing a kiss from the warm skin. “I believe I can relate.” 

They undress and prepare in haste, and Sebastian presses Cullen against the half-rotted fabric of the sofa. A storm of kisses follows; and Cullen thinks he will never tire of being thus possessed, belonging to Sebastian so thoroughly. It’s only been since the morning, and yet he yearns as though he’s not been touched in a decade, like every minute apart was a lifetime. Every inch between them an ocean. And to think Sebastian feels the same is a realisation he can barely comprehend. How were they ever strangers? What was life if not a prelude to this?

Sebastian’s mouth bites the skin of his neck and Cullen moans, wild and wanton. The wolf inside of his love is far less primitive than the need coursing through Cullen’s veins, the reckless abandon pulsing in his body. He parts his thighs and Sebastian settles between them, as if that’s where he belongs, and… that he does. All Cullen’s ever imagined himself to be, Sebastian has shown to be false; he needs no solitude, no isolation. What he really needs is comfort and care; love and lust in equal measures. His cups overflowing.

As Sebastian reaches for the vaseline on the floor, Cullen watches in great satisfaction; this need to be claimed was one of the things he had never known he needed, and yet. He craves it, the connection. It completes whatever flows between them in the nether; a touch so true it’s both physical and mental. As if their souls connect through their bodies. And Sebastian is so beautiful like this; locks of hair escaping his prim comb-back, lips moist and eyes intent, and for a moment Cullen wishes he could paint. 

Two fingers administer the lotion to his rear, and all coherence escapes him. It’s as though he’s blinded, the world narrowed to sensation alone as Sebastian breaches him with crooked fingers and leans to kiss him. And yet, it’s not enough; the nether flows and Cullen can’t be sure to which of them the pleasure rushing him belongs to, but he needs it all melted to one. “Fuck me.”

Sebastian moans deep and raw, lips taking Cullen’s again, making quick work of preparations. It isn’t before Cullen’s chasing his fingers that he pulls back, coating himself quickly, an earnest look in his eyes as he pushes in. Cullen couldn’t close his eyes even if he wanted to. He’s anchored in place, pinned by Sebastian’s gaze. The full, heavy cock pushing deeper in. Deeper and deeper, stopping only when Cullen can’t take any more. 

His breaths are shallow, wild; almost panicked. The sensation is overwhelming. Exhilarating. To be so full, so powerless, so completely at Sebastian’s mercy. The blue of Sebastian’s eyes shifts into amber, the colour of Cullen’s own, and his lust turns frenzied. Mindless. He rocks against Sebastian, urging him to push. 

The man wastes no time to comply; nudging gently at first, but picking up in speed as Cullen makes no secret of his need.

The hearth crackles as they move in rhythm, arms wrapped around one another, the old sofa whining under their weight. And all too soon: Sebastian’s moan in his ear, a push from the right angle, and Cullen comes in glorious waves, teeth clenched in Sebastian’s shoulders. The world turns white under his eyelids as Sebastian chases release, holding Cullen tight. 

When Sebastian comes, the connection flares up like true telepathy. Wonder and warmth pool in the ether between them, almost tangible, like a shared limb. Lazy and pliant, Cullen’s thumb brushes slowly against Sebastian’s back. He’s sated. Claimed. 

And right where he belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. <3 This dog loves all bones, so kudos and comments are very welcome.


End file.
